


Givers

by HouseAu3



Series: The Hale Files [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Dresden Files Fusion, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3777961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseAu3/pseuds/HouseAu3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's first day of community service. Happens right after the end of Burnt Heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Givers

“Morning,” the sheriff greets Derek from the kitchen counter when he walks down the stairs. “Coffee?”

“I - thank you.” The words feel foreign on his tongue. He has been so cautious with his words for so many years; he has almost forgot how to show casual gratitude for the little things.

The sheriff pours him a cup of coffee. Derek hesitates for a brief moment, and then drinks it black. He must not have hidden his grimace very well though; the sheriff snorts and pushes the sugar canister toward him.

“You could have just asked, Derek.”

Derek nods, his face heating up as he adds two spoons of sugar into his coffee. The sheriff watches him drink with a raised eyebrow.

“How do you normally take your coffee?” the sheriff asks.

It’s a little absurd how Derek actually considers lying, but something tells him that the man before him won’t appreciate that and really, he should be able to be truthful about something so trivial; there’s no harm to be done here.

“With milk and more sugar,” Derek admits.

The sheriff shakes his head. “Next time, just tell me.” He takes a bottle of milk out of the fridge and places it in front of Derek. “He wasn’t exaggerating when he said you weren’t a big fan of sharing information, was he?”

Derek shrugs, a little helplessly, unsure of how to respond. He ends up drinking without a word after pouring a generous amount of milk into the cup.

“Is he still asleep?” the sheriff asks. Derek nods without thinking, and then panics when he realizes the implication. The sheriff laughs. “Relax, I know you were just checking up on him. Anything unusual?”

Derek shakes his head. The only thing unusual is the way Stiles sleeps. Derek had never seen anyone who could remain asleep with only half of his lower body on the bed, practically a landslide about to happen. Derek had briefly considered putting him back up onto the bed, but decided against it. It would be… weird, and he couldn’t deny that part of him is deeply amused by how Stiles will most likely react if he falls off: with yelping and a lot of flailing.

“Let’s head out then,” the sheriff says, pushing a paper bag into Derek’s hands. It smells like bread. ”You have a lot to do today.”

*

The first person to greet them at the station is the one who has pointed a gun at him. Derek feels the urge to just turn around and run, but it’s clearly not an option.

“Mr. Hale,” the deputy says. “Good to see you again.”

Derek gives him a stiff nod.

“How’s Stiles?” he asks, pointedly directing the question at him even though the sheriff is standing right beside him. Derek shifts his weight uncomfortably and nods again.

“Is that a ‘good’, a ‘fine’, or just a reflex?”

“Donnelly, cut him some slack, will you?” The sheriff finally takes pity on him and cuts in. “Derek, this is deputy Donnelly. Donnelly, Derek Hale.”

“A pleasure,” Donnelly says and extends his hand. Derek takes it with less confident than he’d like, but at least his hand is steady.

Donnelly grins at him. “Please do refrain from running away in the future.”

“Donnelly-” the sheriff warns.

“All right.” Donnelly releases Derek’s hand and steps back. “I’m back to work now. You know where I am if you need anything.”

Watching him leave, Derek wonders how he’s supposed to survive the day, let alone months.

“Sorry about that,” the sheriff says. “He’s known Stiles since he was born.”

“I understand.” Derek shrugs. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Follow me.” The sheriff walks through the station with ease. He leads Derek into his office and presents him with a folder. “This is a small town. A lot of young people leave for college or work. Some never come back. We have some elderly people living alone and most of them are capable of taking care of themselves, or have neighbors willing to help, but an extra pair of ears and hands never hurt.”

“So you want me to check up on them?”

“Yes. See how they are doing. Help however you can.” The sheriff tosses Derek a key. Derek’s key. ”Your car’s at the back. You don’t need to visit everyone in a day. That’ impossible. You’ll know why soon enough.”

Derek nods and reaches for the door.

“Oh, and Derek?”

He turns to look at the sheriff.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Derek gives him a brief smile before leaving.

*

Beatrice Fischer appears to be a kind, cheerful soul in his Sight, but there’s a scar on her wrinkled face in the shape of a teardrop, and a broken string around her left wrist. She greets him with a warm hug and invites him in for a cup of tea. Derek’s going to decline politely and moves on to the next in the list, but the disappointment on her face makes it impossible to leave.

“I - maybe I can stay for a while.”

“Oh, don’t force yourself on my account.”

“I’m not.” Derek tries his best to smile at her. “I’d like to spend some time with you.”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Fischer chuckles. “If only I were thirty years younger.”

Mrs. Fischer - Beatrice, Derek soon finds out, loves herbal tea and makes a mean apple pie. She’s also in possession of the most comfortable couch Derek has ever come across. Derek finds himself sinking deeper and deeper into it, and almost dozes off. He snaps out of his drowsiness, embarrassed. Beatrice laughs and pours him more tea.

“Such is the power of good tea and furniture,” she says, eyes crinkling. “You look tired, sweetheart. You need to take better care of yourself. You are young, but the damages you’ve done to your body don’t just go away.”

“I will. I’ve just been… busy lately.”

“That’s no excuse,” she scoffs. “Promise me you will get more rest?”

Derek nods.

“Now, where were we?”

Someone knocks on the door. Derek helps her up and walks her to the door. The man outside blinks in surprise when he sees Derek.

“Danny!” Beatrice pulls him into a hug and kisses him on the cheek. “I haven’t seen you in months.”

“Yeah, sorry. School’s been busy.” Danny swings his backpack forward and pulls a box out. “I’ve brought what you need. I’ll set up the router in the living room.”

“Thank you, darling.” Beatrice steps aside to let Danny in. He looks, for lack of a better word, clean. It’s not that he gives nothing away, like Stiles, but that there’s not a lot of sharp edges in him. “Oh, where’s my manner. Derek, this is Danny, Danny Mahealani.”

“Hello,” Danny says. “Derek Hale, right? You’re quite a topic in the BH high right now.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

“There’s rumors that you eloped with Stilinski.”

Derek almost chokes on his own saliva.

“I take it it’s just a rumor.” Danny chuckles. “So, what did happen?”

Derek clenches his jaw. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” Danny says with a good-natured smile. “I won’t pry.”

He knows he overreacted, and he should say something, but he can’t seem to find the appropriate words. “I should go,” he ends up saying, putting on his jacket.

“Will you be back again?” Beatrice asks, her tone hopeful. “If you want to, that is.”

“Of course.” Derek smiles at her, and surprises himself by how genuine it is. “Take care.”

*

Albert Cooper answers the door with a baseball bat in hand. He has the soul of a tiger, but it’s now crippled and plagued by illness.

“I know who you are. I saw you running away from the police.”

Derek takes a deep breath. “The sheriff tells me to check on you. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No! I don’t need help, especially not from a criminal.” He falls into a fit of coughing, his back almost bent in half by the force of it, the bat dropped onto the ground. Derek reaches out for him, but gets pushed away. It hurts, somehow, even from a stranger. Is this how he had made Stiles feel? Was it worse? Derek wraps an arm around Cooper to steady him, ignoring his broken protest.

Cooper stops coughing, but he also stops making a sound.

Derek straightens Cooper’s back and sees a panicked expression on the weathered face, and then he starts choking. “Do you have asthma?” Derek asks. Cooper shakes his head with wide eyes. “Okay, try to breathe slower. Don’t rush.”

Derek starts to count very slowly, a hand on Cooper’s back, sliding up and down soothingly. “Steady.” He keeps his voice low and his breathing controlled. “You’ll be fine.”

Cooper makes a high pitched sound and finally starts breathing properly again. Derek lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’m helping you in,” Derek says. Cooper just silently let him. There’s barely any threshold and it doesn’t even make a dent on his magic.

He helps Cooper sit at the dining table and pours a cup of water for him.

“Thanks,” Cooper grumbles. “You should go take a shower. Some of my old clothes should fit you.”

Derek didn’t realize that he’s covered in snot and vomit until now. “It’s alright.”

Cooper shakes his head. “I insist.”

“Not now then.”

“ _Go._ For the sake of my dignity.”

Derek can only oblige.

*

“What are you wearing?”

“A shirt.”

“I can see that, thank you. But it’s _silk_.”

Cooper, as it turns out, used to be a very classy and fashionable guy. And Derek, as it turns out, is physically almost identical to how Cooper was. Derek had to fight tooth and nail to stop him from giving him a three-piece suit, a tuxedo, and a tailcoat. He was practically offering Derek his entire wardrobe. (It’s not as if I can wear any of these now. What am I gonna do with them? Have them be buried with me when I’m dead? It’s not that easy to find a perfect fit for the clothes.)

“It’s borrowed.” Derek shoves a fry into his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating, duh.” Stiles sets his tray across from him and flops down into the seat, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “You’re wearing a silk button-down and a pair of dress pants, and you’re having lunch at Arby’s.”

“What, should I drive an hour to the nearest fancy restaurant?”

Stiles shrugs. “Well, you’ll stand out less.”

Derek huffs. “I’m in the middle of community service.”

“Looking like a freaking _Armani model_.”

Derek rolls his eyes at him. “I can exchange clothes with you if that will make you feel better.”

“Uh, no. That will only make me feel even more inadequate.” Stiles steals a fry from his tray. It seems more out of habit than anything. ”I’ll have no self-esteem left. Like, zero.”

Derek wonders why Stiles thinks so lowly of himself. What have people been telling him? High school has been a memory so long ago he can barely remember what it was like.

“What?” Stiles looks up to meet his gaze. It’s still a novelty to him, looking into others’ eyes. Caught in the afternoon sunlight Stiles’ brown eyes look almost amber, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones as he blinks. “Dude, is there something on my face? Ketchup?”

Derek snaps out of his haze and shakes his head.

“If you see something white and sticky on me, you have to tell me, okay?”

Derek chokes on his coke. He seems to be doing a lot of choking these days. “What.”

“Sour cream! Yeah, that’s what I was talking about. Definitely. Not, you know.” Stiles lets out a string of nervous laughs and dry coughs. “But, uh, please tell me?” He clears his throat. “For, your know, food safety.”

Derek knocks his head on the table and starts shaking with silent laughter.

“Fuck you. That’s a very traumatic experience for all parties involved, okay?”

Derek hears laughter in his voice and looks up. Sure enough there’s a huge grin on Stiles’ face. “How did that even happen?” Derek asks. He has no idea why he’s asking.

“Um, you know, I’m a shooter. I aim high.”

Derek snorts.

“Anyway, I need you to come with me after lunch,” Stiles says. “Won’t be long, I think.”

“Where?”

“The queen herself has asked for your presence,” Stiles says in a terrible Scottish accent. “I am but a humble servant.”

Derek glares at him, hoping to convey just exactly how unimpressed he is. Stiles seems completely unfazed.

“Just do this for me, man. Lydia talked to me. She has my number. I have her number.” Stiles looks at his new cellphone, which is actually bought a decade ago, with stars in his eyes. “Do you understand the significance? I, Stiles Stilinski, have Lydia Martin’s number.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Stiles does a fist pump and flashes him a wide grin. “Come on dude, hurry up. Every second you spend on eating is a second I don’t get to spend with Lydia.”

*

“Hello, Lydia.” Stiles takes quick strides toward the girl standing in front of her house and trips on nothing. Derek catches him just in time with an arm, wondering just how the hell did he trip on _air_.

“Nice clothes.” Lydia - red hot heart protected by armors made of ice - looks Derek over, resolutely ignoring Stiles’ entrance. “I have questions for you.” She then turns to Stiles. “I want to talk to him in private. You can go now.”

Stiles’ face falls a little, but he quickly puts on a smile. It even seems somewhat genuine. “Sure. You look great, Lydia. Good to see you.”

He turns to leave. Derek grabs his arm to stop him.

“Wait.” He stares at Lydia’s nose. Sometimes he really hopes Soulgaze doesn’t exist. It’s really inconvenient when you’re trying to get your point across. “I only agreed to come because I know him. I won’t give you answers unless he’s there.”

Lydia narrows her eyes at him, her carefully manicured nails stroking her arms.

“Very well,” she finally says. “But I’m not inviting either of you in.”

Derek stares at her.

“Don’t look so surprise,” she huffs. “I’ve done my research.” She walks into the house without turning back.

Stiles leans toward him. “What happens when wizard walks into a house uninvited? Chris has made me to do the same thing.”

“We leave part of our magic behind.” Derek reaches for the mark after they’ve both walked through the threshold. The magic stored in Stiles is still fully intact. “But not you.”

“Huh, now I feel like a bug. I’m like the game-crashing bug in the magical world.” Stiles looks around the house with an awestruck look on his face. “Thanks for getting me in, man.”

Derek shrugs. “Best not to keep her waiting.”

“Yeah.”

They walk into the living room. Lydia’s sitting in a love seat with her legs crossed. “I’m going to start telling you what I think is true. Correct me when I get something wrong.”

Derek takes a seat across from her and gestures at Stiles to sit down as well. Derek can feel Stiles’ restless energy practically vibrating in him. It’s distracting.

“Magic exists. There are magic practitioners in the world. Magic can kill technology.”

“Oh shit,” Stiles whispers beside him. “She knows now.”

“I’m not going to stop them from dating, Stilinski. At least they know how to manage it now.”

“Great. Or Scott’s going to be insufferable.”

Lydia’s mouth quirks up a little. “Ghosts exist. Only a few of them are concrete enough to have a personality. There are people who can see and communicate with ghosts, but it’s better not to.”

“Better not when you don’t know enough,” Derek corrects her.

“They are not souls.”

“They’re footsteps left by the deceased, memories.”

“Is there a way to not see them?”

“No. You’re born with the potential, and once you reach it, there’s no going back.”

“Okay.” Lydia drums her fingers on her thighs. “Can they sense if someone can see them?”

“They can’t just sense it, no, but some of them can be very observant.”

Lydia frowns. “How do you drive them away when they’re bothering you?”

“Church. Home. Ghost dust.”

“What’s the last one?”

“It can causes them pain and immobilized them.” Derek sees her eyes light up. “I don’t have any, but you can ask Chris Argent for some. I’m sure he has plenty.”

“Allison’s dad.” She shakes her head. “Is there anyone completely mundane in this town?”

Stiles opens his mouth, but Lydia cuts him off with a wave of hand. “Don’t. That’s rhetorical.”

“Um,” Stiles says. “So you’re a ghost whisperer? That’s cool.”

“Inconvenient is what it is.” She crosses her arms. “So, what happened in the past few weeks? What have you two had to do with everything?”

“Oh, It’s a long story,” Stiles leans forward, his knees bouncing up and down in excitement over finally getting to speak and be listened. Derek doesn’t really want to take that away from him, and Lydia’s probably figured out half of it, but he’s just not prepared to have other people know yet. It makes everything seem more real somehow, and he’s not ready for that, at least not yet.

It doesn’t get easier the second time he lost a family. It never gets easy to kill a family with his own hands.

“ - um, and I can’t quite remember it? I’m busy passing out and all.”

Derek looks over at Stiles, who has an embarrassed smile on his face, his pinky slightly touching Derek’s hand.

At that brief moment, there’s nothing Derek wants more than to pull him into his arms and holds him. His hands twitch, yearning for more physical connection. He forces himself to stay still, and that moment goes away.

Lydia raises an eyebrow at them. “All right, you two can go now.”

“Bye, Lydia,” Stiles says, waving his hand as he walks backward toward the door. He trips on the rug. Derek, again, catches him just in time. Stiles mumbles his thanks and gets to his feet. Derek can’t help the smile slowly spreading on his face, unfamiliar emotions rise up from within him.

He feels a tingling pain coming from his left wrist, and his smiles falters. The warm feeling vanishes suddenly and without a trace.

“God damn it.” Stiles’ hand finds his and holds it. “Do those twisted fuckers even understand what they’ve been doing to you?”

Feeling dizzy and a little disorientated, Derek lets himself be led out of the door and to his car. It’s been years since this last happened. He curses himself for being careless.

“Don’t kill me, but I really need to give you a hug right now.” Stiles says. He doesn’t wait for Derek to respond before pulling Derek into him and wraps his arms around him. Derek freezes for a second, not quite sure how to react, his hands hovering somewhere above Stiles’ back.

“What are you doing?” Derek mumbles into Stiles’ neck. They are, Derek suddenly realizes, almost at the same height.

“I’m trying to calm down my overwhelming urge to cry and kill somebody with bare hands, not that I can.”

“By hugging me.”

“I need a hug. You need a hug. This is the most rational solution.”

Derek snorts. “Can’t fault your logic.”

“Just accept it, man.” Stiles’ hands glides up his back and stops at his shoulder blades. “It’s kind of weird I can still feel your mark through the leather. Have you ever tried taking its temperature?”

Derek laughs. “It’s not physical.” He tentatively lets his arms fall onto Stiles’ back. “How long is this going to last?”

“Until I get a boner and kill the mood,” Stiles says, and then, “You should be able to tell by now I totally did not meant to say that.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you. You’re not bad yourself.” Stiles slowly pulls away and holds him at arm’s length with a hand on either of his shoulders. “No, I don’t have a boner now. Don’t bother to check.”

Derek rolls his eyes at him. Stiles snickers and releases him. The sudden loss of heat makes him reflexively reach for the mark. The bright warmth on the other end soothes him, and that terrifies him. He can’t want this, he keeps telling himself, but it’s getting harder and harder to push Stiles away, and Stiles is nothing if not persistent.

“All right. I’ll let you go back to your community service. In suit.” Stiles cackles. “You’re going to make some old ladies really happy.”

He pokes at Derek’s chest. Derek huffs and shoves him away, more playful than annoyed.

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

“Later, Derek.” Stiles flashes him a smile. “Please don’t get yourself into any life-and-death situation again. It gets old.”

“I’ll try.” Derek shrugs. “No promises.”

*

Murphy’s Law. That’s the best description of his life.

Derek stares at his smashed phone. How many more does he have in his room? Cellphone this sturdy is hard to come by in this day and age.

“You okay?” he asks the boy who has his face buried in Derek’s bloody arm. He should probably stop him. Blood is a bitch to clean off, and he really should try to get some help before he bleeds out.

“Hey, kid,” he says, hand applying pressure to the gash on his side. “What’s your name?”

The boy sniffs. “Matt.”

“Matt, can you go find someone for me? Or find a phone to call the police?”

Matt shakes his head and tightens his grip on Derek’s arm. Derek sighs.

“Matt, I’m going to die if I don’t get some help. Can you please help me?” Derek would try to wipe the blood off the boy’s face, but there isn’t really any part not soaked in blood on him either. “You tried to protect your mother. You’re brave.”

Matt roughly wipes his face with his sleeve. “Okay.” He nods, face growing determined. “Okay.” He staggers to his feet and runs away.

Derek waits, shutting his eyes. He sees fear through the link and wonders if Stiles had felt him. Should he temporarily close the link? No, that will probably freak him out even more.

He opens his eyes when he hears footsteps approaching. Matt’s dragging a woman to him. Her eyes widens when she sees Derek. She rushes to his side and takes a stack of gauze pads out of her bag. She moves his hand away, peels off his clothes, and puts clean gauze on the bleeding wound. “Keep pressing,” she tells him. Derek tries his best to oblige.

She pulls her phone out and calls for an ambulance. Her voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from under water. Derek only catches a few words, like Melissa McCall, the sheriff, and Stiles. Why does she mention Stiles?

“Derek, I need you to stay awake, okay?” She says, checking him for other wounds. “You have lost a lot of blood. You’ll need blood transfusion.”

“Not all is mine,” he mumbles.

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

Derek tries to stay awake. He really does. But it’s hard to do so when he’s lost a pint of blood _and_ has vampire saliva running in his body. When he comes to, he’s in the all too familiar hospital again. Matt’s snuggling his uninjured side on the bed with him. Stiles is dozing off with a hand supporting his head by the bed.

“Hey.”

Stiles jerks awake, brown eyes staring straight into Derek’s. “You were visiting old ladies. How the fuck did this happen? What the hell does ‘man who looks like a bat no not batman’ mean?”

“Vampire.”

“Jesus Christ.” Stiles rubs at his temple. “Where is it?”

“Dead.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Only you can turn community service into an Underworld movie.” He points at Matt. “And make a boy think you’re a superhero.”

Melissa makes an entrance at this moment. “Oh, you’re awake. Good.” She walks to his side and checks his vitals. “You should be able to get discharged tonight.”

Derek nods. “How about his mother?”

“Mrs. White is shaken, but fine.”

Derek nods again.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Derek. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She brushes Derek’s hair away from his forehead and smiles wryly. “I’d prefer not seeing you covered in blood the next time we meet.”

“Hell of a first meeting,” Stiles says with a sigh. “Thanks, Mrs. McCall.”

She nods. “I’ll let the sheriff know. Don’t try to run away.” With that, she turns away and walks out.

“Dude, you have a reputation now.” Stiles pours him a cup of water. ”Derek the breakout hero.”

“Don’t dude me.” Derek accepts the cup and takes a gulp. “And not a hero.”

“Think what you want, man.” Stiles slumps his upper body down on the bed. “You have the worst luck out of everyone I’ve ever known.”

“And that makes me a hero?”

“Well, you either become a villain or a hero.” Stiles lifts his head to look at him, chin resting on the mattress. “You really should take a vacation though. You aren’t going to have any blood of your own left in you if you keep this up.”

Derek stays silent for a while. “Would you have walked away?”

“Probably not.” Stiles sighs. “When did this town become so dangerous?”

Derek knows exactly when, and he was a part of it.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not on you.” Stiles yawns. “Mrs. McCall said you need iron. Do you like beef? Anything you don’t eat?”

Derek blinks. “None that I can think of.”

“Awesome.” Stiles grabs Derek’s arm and lays his head on it. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

“On my arm.”

“So that you can’t break out again, yeah.” Stiles closes his eyes and falls asleep in less than a minute. Derek stares at the dark rims below his eyes and wonders just how well he had been sleeping, and how many nightmares he had been having.

He has no idea what is best for everyone anymore.

*

Derek ends up spending the night at the Stilinskis’ again. Saying no to Stiles alone is hard enough; saying no to both him and the sheriff is impossible. Stiles makes roasted beef with spinach salad for dinner, but the sheriff is only allowed three thin slices of meat. He keeps shooting dirty looks at his son and longing glances at Derek’s plate. Derek almost caves in and pushes his plate to him, but Stiles kicks him under the table and glares at him.

This seems to be a ritual for them. There’s a familiarity in their complaints and bickering that Derek very much envies.

“You know, Stiles used to be terrible at cooking,” the sheriff says after Stiles has gone shower. “He kept getting cut and getting burned that I forbade him from setting foot in the kitchen, but of course he didn’t listen.”

Derek puts the plates on the rack. “Okay?”

“My point is, Derek, he’ll do anything for people he cares about.” The sheriff claps a hand on his shoulder. “So you really should take better care of yourself, or there’s no telling how he’ll do it for you.”

Derek presses his lips together. The problem is he doesn’t really know how, and he doesn’t think Stiles knows either. “He should too. Take better care of himself.”

The sheriff twists his lips into a wry smile. “Yeah, I keep telling him that.”

*

At midnight Derek’s jolted awake by a soft gasp and the subsequent tossing and turning from Stiles’ room. He sees a deep sorrow and an overwhelming sense of confused guilt. He sits up, closes his eyes, focuses on the link between them, and tries to push every positive emotion he can muster through it.

He listens to Stiles’ heartbeats and breathing slowly settling down and thinks that maybe, maybe something good might come out of this after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS MEANT TO BE SHORT LIKE 1000 SHORT WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED


End file.
